Christmas
by Elphaba'sGirl
Summary: "It's midnight, December 24th, 1899. The gifts are wrapped and under the sad-looking Christmas tree in the lodging house, and Jack is on the roof." A moment-montage of Jack Kelly's Christmases.


**Merry late Christmas everyone! Here's an (admittedly sad) holiday oneshot!**

**Disclaimer; I own nothing (except maybe Angela...)**

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><p>Winter in New York, as Angela Sullivan is finding out, is absolutely horrible. It is the year 1882, and she is nine months pregnant with her first child. Her apartment is strangely empty, now that her late husband's things are gone. Jack Sullivan passed a month ago.<p>

There is a miniature Christmas tree in one corner of the main room, with sparse decorating and a paper star on the top. Beneath the branches rests a single package, wrapped in newspaper and tied together with a long red ribbon that Jack gave Angela for her birthday, intended to be worn in her long, dark hair.

It is addressed simply "To Baby, Love Momma and Dad."

And as morning dawns on December 25th, 1882, Angela Sullivan unwraps the package and smiles at the soft blue blanket and booties she picked out with her husband in early November, expecting that by Christmas, their now-two weeks-late baby would be born.

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><p>Francis Sullivan is six years old. He is a bright young man, and his mother sees this. His mother is dying.<p>

She passes on December 1st, leaving Francis alone. He spends December 10th on the streets, having just been evicted from Angela Sullivan's home the day prior.

Winter is cold. Francis' shoes are worn through, and he has no money for new ones. He owns a bag full of his mother's things, among them several pieces of jewelery, a pair of too-large, bright red mittens, which he wears despite their size, a pack of cigarettes (which he's been forbidden to touch), and a worn copy of the Bible. He figures he'll sell most of it within a week, save maybe a few things to remember her by. He wears her simple gold wedding band on a chain around his neck, and he keeps the Bible in the pocket of his too-large pants.

December 25th finds him eating an order of pancakes in Jacobi's boughtwith the last of his money, lost and alone as he reads the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke, as his mother had done aloud each year since he was born.

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><p>Francis Sullivan is dead. He died in the Refuge, like so many others. There is no grave in the cemetery, because no one cares. No one knows he is dead, because no one needs to know.<p>

Francis Sullivan's death could have been prevented, had someone only been there for him.

Francis Sullivan is dead, but Jack Kelly is alive.

Jack Kelly is fourteen years old. He carries five dollars in his pocket, to be spent on Christmas gifts for the newsies. He's waited as long as possible to buy them, saving as much as he could.

He buys a cigar for Race. Candy for Crutchie. New laces for Boots' boots. And so on.

The five dollars are gone soon. He's been outside in the cold for eight hours, now. Jack shoves his hands, wrapped in bright red mittens, into his pockets, and begins to head back to the lodging house, where his brothers are waiting for him.

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><p>Jack Kelly is seventeen years old. He's short on money this season, they all are. After the strike, despite being able to sell back papers, they've all been spread a little thin on funds. Gifts are in high demand; Les swears by Santa's sleigh, but Jack won't bet on that.<p>

He buys the necessities. Coats, hats, blankets, even a pair of boots for Crutchie, who's worn the toe thin dragging his gimp leg around New York.

It's midnight, December 24th, 1899. The gifts are wrapped and under the sad-looking Christmas tree in the lodging house, and Jack is on the roof. His hands are freezing; he rubs them together, as the pockets sewn onto his jacket have long since torn off from years of abuse.

Seven o'clock finds him indoors once again, his newsies tearing into the gifts wrapped sloppily in newspaper. They are happy, for the first time in what feels like forever, wrapped scarves around their necks and placing new hats on their heads.

Crutchie pulls on his new (if not slightly faded) red mittens, and joins the boys around a lively fire.

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><p>Jack Kelly is twenty-one years old.<p>

Central Park is dusted with white snow, and the trees glisten with ice. Beside him, Katherine Plumber is dressed in a holiday dress and a heavy winter coat, and her cheeks are flushed with cold as she smiles.

Jack pulls a small, square package from his coat pocket and kneel down in the snow, a grin playing on his lips.

"Katherine Elizabeth Plumber-Pulitzer, will you marry me?"

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><p>Jack Kelly is twenty-four years old. He was married at twenty-two, to Katherine Elizabeth Plumber-Pulitzer. It is Christmas day in the Kelly household. Jack has already visited the newsboys, delivered his gifts in his new red coat, which the youngest say makes him look like Santa Claus. Jack is not a newsie anymore; he has a real job, illustrating <em>The Sun.<em> The newsboys' leader is Bright-Eyes Jacobs, the boy once known as Les.

There is a miniature Christmas tree in one corner of the main room, with sparse decorating and a paper star on the top. Beneath the branches rests a single package, wrapped in newspaper and tied together with a long red ribbon. Jack sits before the tree, and looks at the package, addressed simply "For my Ace, Love always and forever, Jack."

Jack feels the air grow colder as the fire goes out. He sits there in silence for a long time.

Jack sits alone before the tree, and he eats dinner alone that night.

It is nine o'clock when there is a knock on his door. He answers it with a smile on his face, one that is just as fake as the one he practiced for the newsies' benefit.

"Evening, Mr. Kelly," says the old man, as he steps into the room uninvited.

"Evenin', boss- er, Mr. Pulitzer, sir. You here ta see Katherine?"

Joseph Pulitzer smiles a little sadly. "No, Jack. I'm not."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry, I can't help you. Merry Christmas, sir, and I'll tell Katherine you came."

His father-in-law frowns slightly. "Jack, are you feeling alright?"

"Me? Yessir, though that's uncharacteristically considerate of you to ask."

"Jack, have you seen Katherine today?"

"Sir-"

"Kelly, have you lost your head?"

Jack blinks distractedly. "Sir, she'll be home soon, if you'd like to wait, but I'm afraid I'm all you'll have for company until then."

"Jack Kelly, get it through your thick skull; Katherine's dead."

Jack freezes. "N-no, she ain't, sir."

Pulitzer's eyes mirror Jack's as they glimmer with tears. "She is. Has been for a month now."

Jack's tears roll down his cheeks. "Why are you here, then?"

"You're the only person in the world who can ever understand how much I miss her."

Jack sinks to the ground, his heart pounding in his chest, and Pulitzer follows him, awkwardly placing his arms around the son-in-law he's not acknowledged for two years.

As Jack cries, he begins to speak, the words sometimes jumbled, but mostly coherent enough to understand. "In the sixth month of Elizabeth's pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin's name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, 'Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.'" He quoted this from a worn little book, which lay on the table, but from which he had memorized this passage many Christmases ago.

Joseph Pulitzer takes a breath and continues, "Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, 'Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus.'"

And Jack looks up at the most powerful man in New York, the giant which nearly crushed his brave team of Davids, and says softly with him, "'He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob's descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.'"


End file.
